You Can't Always Get What You Want
by mortianna
Summary: What does Harry want from his Potions Master and does he get it? And does he come out of it unharmed? Warning for slash, mild kink, and ridicule of some of the fandom's dearest. No children here, hear me?!
1. Default Chapter

You Can't Always Get What You Want

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A Stones title this time –wonders never cease. I'm a Beatles girl after all, but this seems quite fitting. I would have quoted the title further, which would be even more fitting, but I'm not too sure about the words:-)

This was lying around for at least half a year, if not longer. It is one of my sequels to the Bike Incident described in . It didn't fascinate me enough to stay on track all this time, but I returned to it because I needed some release from my German stuff. I reread it and touched it up a bit and finished it. I am sure, I robbed the initial scene from someone, but I can't remember from whom. Whoever it is, thank you:-) There are of course references to other Rickman roles, I'd call that robbery too, but they are part of my nature, so I can't.

So here they go again: Severus Snape/Harry Potter, slash, NC-17, Harry's POV (I don't know, I grow fonder and fonder of the boy, it's a disgrace!). You have been warned! Don't bring your parents up against me, I don't own anything and I'm older than they are, anyway, I presume:-) And taller! And weirder... And I know spells! Ahem...

Enjoy!

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„Sod off". 

Harry shivered. That voice did things to him, unmentionable. Well, not to mention here, on Hogwarts grounds, in the public, with all his friends looking on. The face of Ron was remarkable enough as it was, watching his best friend knocking on the door of the hated Potions master's study. If Ron knew how Harry felt, he would surely have an aneurysm.

Or perhaps not. It shouldn't come as a surprise to Ron that the voice of Snape lifted him up. 

Harry grinned. "Please Professor, I have to talk to you. It is about my exams." He heard a snort out of the office and saw Hermione looking pleased if unbelieving. Well, he couldn't do anything about that. He just heaved his shoulders looking at his friends and back at the closed door. 

He could hear Seamus giggle. Pity. Seamus never was one to understand. So much the better for him.

The door bounced open with violent flashes of lilac making a halo around it. "Potter", growled the voice of Professor Severus Snape. "Come in before you present even more of a spectacle than you have already done. I know you love to be the attention centre of everybody, but don't you dare use me for satisfying your silly passions."

Harry grinned. He was quite good in his predictions of the Potions master's actions and thoughts. He took a last look at his class mates and entered the lion's den. The door closed behind him with not so much as the tiniest sound. But the sparks protruding from the room told the story just a well. Harry was locked in that room and wouldn't get out unless the teacher wanted him to.

Seamus and Ron took glances at each other quite in discomfort. "Well", said Seamus shrugging rather uneasily, "Harry knows what he does, usually, doesn't he?"

Ron looked as if about to utter something monstrous and decided otherwise in the last possible moment. "Yes", he said hesitatingly. "Or if he doesn't, he copes at least with the results of his actions." "Yes", said Fred, or George, coming by on the way to the Quidditch field. "Don't worry, he is the boy who lived, after all, or is he? And if Snape kills him, that'll surely get him sacked, which would be a good thing."

"George", exclaimed Hermione full of moralistic outrage. "How can you!" The twin blinked. "Don't get your knickers in a twist, Hermione", he said, carefully avoiding eye contact with the boyfriend of the girl whose name came over his tongue like a spectacularly bad tasting bean. "I didn't say I would like Harry to get killed. He's a darn good Quidditch player after all."

Ron visibly hesitated to put his arm around the shoulders of Hermione. She shot him a hurt glance. "Hermione", he began awkwardly. "Don't 'Hermione' me", she cried. "It's your friend as well as mine, but you renounce him in favour of your idiotic, prank-loving brother. Harry must be mad to get into Snape's room. If he wants help with his homework, he could have asked me. He always does."

Ron gulped. He was about to say something, when his older brother padded him on the shoulder, planted a loud smack on Hermione's forehead and left with the enigmatic words: "Well, there are some things on earth that you don't know, Hermione. Ask Ron. Perhaps he'll teach you. And I'm Fred, just for the record."

Hermione looked at Ron with the big question mark on her face that was usual for Ron. 

Ronald Weasley, for once on the side of lesser ignorance and not wanting to be, just heaved his shoulders and looked like a lost puppy. That did it. Hermione shrugged her shoulders, stuck her nose in the air, and off she went in a hurry with righteous indignation. Really, those boys were too slow for words! Ron followed after a while, contemplating on just how he could make Hermione notice certain things that weren't exactly in the books. That would make - things - a whole lot easier. 


	2. The Lion's Den

Harry stood just behind the door, the tingles radiating off it into his back. His breath heaved his chest faster than he would have it and he willed it to go smoother and softer. When he thought he could trust his breath to obey him, he lifted his eyes to the king of the dungeon.

Dark silky menace. Eyes, hair, clothes. Harry gulped. The Potions master loomed over his desk, a stack of paper on either side, a quill in the left hand that just now decided to drip a bright green spot onto the desk. The pale brooding face darkened even more, the creak between the brows becoming more visible, the mouth set into a thin line.

"You", he growled, trying to wipe away the smear, "are a completely superfluous presence in this room, Mr. Potter, look what you did now."

Harry couldn't help grinning. The man had found fault with him from the first day they met. It couldn't escape even him that Harry was not the one holding the quill. "I'm not the one to blame if I make you shiver, Sir", he said with his lowest voice. 

The black head jerked up, the dark eyes narrowed and the mouth set. Harry managed to hold his stand, but it was not easy. He knew he was not the one to blame for that, he knew it he knew it – what exactly was it that he knew? He shivered. "Cold inhere", he added completely superficially. 

The mouth set even more, the teeth must be clenching so hard it hurt, thought Harry. The lips opened, then closed again, when the dark eyes discovered that even more ink was dripping on the paper. Eyes became nearly invisible and a hiss escaped clenched teeth which made it even harder for Harry to stand. A movement with the hand not holding the quill followed, and the paper in question went up in smoke and shrieks. Harry thought he heard Neville's voice, stumbling about the ingredients of a potion. He raised an eyebrow in an uncanny imitation of the other man, clearly not even Snape could just burn the papers of students? Well, yes, it seemed so. Snape gave him a defying stare that Harry recalled having seen in a Muggle movie once, on a Sheriff who had cut the hero with his sword, telling him that now they were even. 

Then the man was up and around his desk, his cloak billowing about him and stopping just inches away from Harry. "Pity", he said with that voice the boy remembered just too well, "I'm devastated that my rooms don't meet your requirements, Mr. Potter."

"You bet", said Harry, a little breathless. Well, who needed breath anyway? Was a much overrated experience anyhow. He had survived in a cupboard after all, and there had not been too much air in that one.

"I fail to see the reason behind your madness, Potter", the dark seducing voice growled. Harry had yet to fathom how it could be that something was so frightening and arousing at the same time. But he didn't really care enough to work it all out. There was perhaps a reason behind it all, lying deeply rooted in his childhood, but he couldn't care less at the moment. Knowledge, book knowledge at that, was not exactly what he expected to learn from this teacher. He cocked a questioning eyebrow at the man, whose frown deepened as his own weapon was pushed against him. "I'm sorry that I overestimated your thinking capacities, Potter. My fault, entirely. In all the years I had the indefinite pleasure of teaching you, you never gave me reason to think highly of the thing you have between your ears. And I don't mean those eyes which some people, especially your fans out there, might term endearing." 

Harry broke the eye contact to hide his blushing. A compliment wrapped in pure venom – a gift that only Snape could give that freely and perfectly. "You were saying?", he asked rather stubbornly. "Assuming that you were saying anything at all, other than only listening to your own voice berating me, something you should have grown tired of by now."

Ha! Harry couldn't suppress a smile. That had done it nicely. The thin mouth gave a curl that was involuntary, it just had to. "Do you mean to come into my own rooms which seem not to be meeting your approval as does my conversation, to tell me what I should have grown tired of?"

Harry squirmed. "Not exactly", he mumbled. "Quite on the contrary, if truth be told."

The frown on the other man's face grew deeper. The dark eyes narrowed until they were only slightly larger than a pinhead. "And as you are a Gryffindor to the bone, you are as compelled to tell the truth as you are to save the world, are you not, Potter?" The voice had been coated in honey, but there was pure venom behind, so deadly a basilisk would have been envious of it.

Harry had a hard time. There were so many ways in which he could do himself in, in only answering that question. Snape always did that. Slamming completely contradictory sentences together, mostly down-putting remarks about the intruder's character, and framing them as an answer. And if you did indeed answer, after making out the different ingredients, it was only to utter a "yes" or "no", or to begin trying to defend yourself. Every action left Snape as the master of speech and the other interlocutor as a victim to his tongue. 

Harry would not have it. He had known the man for quite a time now. He knew all his tricks. Didn't mean they weren't working on him, too, but he wouldn't make it as easy for him as he had in first year. Stammering wouldn't do, admitting you didn't know the answer wouldn't do, defying the man wouldn't do.

He stepped a little closer, trying to just not breathe in too deeply. The smell of the teacher just added to his becoming a small lump of goo in his presence. And that was not what he wanted, just now. Just not now now. A little later, perhaps. 

"No, I'm not a Gryffindor to the bone, Professor Snape, and you know it. You know as well as I that I'm not compelled to tell the complete truth when not under Veritaserum. And you know as well that I'm equally not compelled to save the world but am made to do so despite my wish of being left alone in peace and live a normal life."

Oh God! He had done himself in again. He knew it from the sardonic hint of a smile that curled Snape's lip. He swallowed. He had got taken away. The beginning had been good enough, but then. He suppressed a whimper, as the other man swooped closer, his black robes slithering about him, touching him. They seemed to have a life of their own. Hot, and cold, stern, and floating. Harry gulped again.

The eyes came closer and closer, the hawk-like nose nearly hit his own smaller one, filling his vision almost completely. There was room for eyes and mouth and a little hair, though. The mouth opened to breathe onto him. Harry shivered. 

"And why is it, then, Potter, that you come here to me, disturbing my peace and freedom, to pester me with your presence? How can doing that possibly add to your living a normal life in peace and harmony and all that?"


	3. The Lion and the Snake

Harry stared mesmerised. The voice of the man lulled him in as mothers were said to be doing with their children. Well, he couldn't know, now could he? He sure didn't feel like he was Snape's son. Urgh! That would be fatal. "Well you know, I always feel quite peaceful and in harmony with life again, when I leave your rooms", he murmured, not wanting to say aloud just now that he felt at home in these dark damp dungeons. It was bad enough that he was the one who came again and again to see the other man, he would be damned if he did all the courting.

Snape's eyebrow lifted. "Ah, and would you care to enlighten me why that would be so?" The dark gaze washed about Harry as did the sweet and spicy breath of the man. He even smelled like no other, let alone – taste. Harry gulped and saliva started to flow freely in his mouth. He licked his lips and looked the other man directly into the eye, with that look he had honed since first year. Defiant, but good. He was a good boy after all. Right? "Trying to stay in character", Harry began something of which he didn't know where it would lead him, but had that ever hindered him to run headlong into anything? No it hadn't, just ask Voldemort, or the sorry remains that must surely be left somewhere on the face of the earth, or in the lesser known regions of hell. "I would have to say that coming from your rooms and your vilification of my character, I feel very much alive and at ease with my less than brilliant peers, who know nothing of the darkness in me." 

Speaking of darkness: How dark could eyes get, really? There seemed to be no bottom in these dark pits before him. "Stepping out of my character just a little, I would have to confess, that I enjoy our bantering a lot. That I feel a lot more at ease with you than with any of the other people I know who would make me a hero. You never do that. You treat me as an obnoxious brat, spoilt and all that, who doesn't know what he did to defeat the dark forces and revels in his fame. That is of course not the truth either." 

"What?", asked Snape in that special silken voice of his that was reserved for deepest sarcasm. "Not the truth either? In which way would the golden Gryffindor violate the truth? Violate the rules of good etc.?"

Harry was not to be disturbed by the feelings that voice invoked in him. Not much. "I meant, your vision of me, or the vision you pretend to have of me, is not the truth about me, either. Not the whole truth, at last." 

Snape snorted. "Remind me to tell Albus to revise the Curriculum. It seems as if our divinations teacher is more out of her tree even than usual, teaching you brats things that sound like deep philosophy and are nothing but crap." 

Harry's eyes gleamed. "You – are –quiet. It has nothing to do with that nut case and you know it." Snape cocked an eyebrow but remained silent. Astonishingly, most astonishingly. Harry had dared him in his own rooms and was still alive and not body-bound or anything. That must mean something. Snape simply looked at him, mouth set and eyes flashing. If Harry wouldn't come to the point, and soon, he could still find himself hit with one of the just not unforgivables or scrubbing cauldrons without magic. Loads and loads and loads of them.

"I was not finished yet, Professor", he offered as an explanation and a cease fire. Snape cocked the eyebrow again. "Well, Potter, I'm dying from curiosity here, to see what else is on that scatterbrain of a mind of yours."

"Liar", Harry said in a tone that might have been called tender, even if neither man would do that. Ever. "As I was saying. If I got out of character even more, I would say that being here with you in these dismal dungeons, bantering and quibbling, being called names, be ridiculed and all that, is that part of my life that I really love. The part of my life which is worth living, really."

Harry felt himself blushing. He had never gone that far before. But he held the dark gaze that was devouring him and did not budge an inch. He swallowed and felt like running away, but he staid. For what felt like hours in which the Potions master perused him like an insect, with eyes that seemed to penetrate to his core.

At last Snape spoke. In a barely audible voice. "But we both and all the world know that Harry Potter would never be so out of character to say such a thing, now would he?" The voice sounded – wistful, Harry decided. He kept silent. Snape seemed to ponder questions of imminent danger and weight. Harry could see the storms raging in that man's brain, their shadows haunted his brow. He wanted to sigh. Snape did everything the hard way. No one could do torture as well as Severus Snape. Especially on himself. 

Eventually the dark eyes opened to the full frontal glare again and a touch of a curl graced the mouth. "Come here, you insufferable brat. You earned your reward. Loath so I am to admit it: You have shown extreme courage and even persistence in the face of adverse circumstances that I would never have expected you to be capable of. Moreover, you have shown a talent for insight in yourself and others that is – humiliating. I meant of course, promising."

Harry felt his heart become lighter and lighter with every word the other man spoke. The return of the mischievous grin led him to jump into the arms of Snape that were suddenly opened to him. Abracadabra. He had found the key again. The key to the castle where the dark prince lay buried and awaited his saviour. He had found it time after time, again and again, only to be thrown out of the castle again, every time. This time finding the key had even been harder than usual. But Harry had never been the one to shun hardness. Not when it meant that enduring adverse circumstances lead to heaven. Hell, his whole life had been like that! And it was heaven now, when the awakened prince behind the dark and forbidding mask of the Potions master devoured his lips in a seething kiss and all he could do was sigh into the heavenly mouth. 

"You sure play hard to get better than the rest, Sev", he murmured into the dark locks when he finally could speak again. A mock glare. "Do I, Potter? And please tell: Who would be the rest you are talking of?" Stern as always, but with his robe hanging over his elbows, collar of waistcoat and shirt opened, Severus Snape was not as much of a monster as he usually cared to appear. His cradling the boy in his arms, for that was how Harry felt, but would sooner die than tell Severus Snape that, also diminished the abject terror he always wanted to drive into the hearts of the populace. 

"Figure of speech", Harry curled in the lap of his teacher and lover rather comfortably, kissing the enticing neck up and down in quick movements. Somehow they had sunken down to the floor under Harry's attack, the older man leaning to the desk and the younger one slung around him like vine. Harry couldn't help it. It felt like coming to a home he had never had. Well that and it felt hotter than hell at the same time. He shifted just to make a point there. Some times Sev could be so very slow on the uptake. All this thinking would distract him from other things at hand. Things that Harry thought a bit more important just now. But then – he was Gryffindor. Perhaps the Slytherins were different, after all. 

No, not so very much, he thought smugly. Would have been news, too. It was not as if Snape got too much into thinking whenever he was around. Not after the initial foreplay. Not when Harry rubbed himself onto him in a way he knew was not so very innocent. 

"Talking of figure", the low smooth voice dripped into his ear and from there went on its march to plunder and devastate his body. His body loved being tortured like that. "Might it be possible that you put on some weight? The way you are pressing into me is rather – hard." 

Harry grinned. "Only partially, Sev. But if it disturbs you – much, I remember that you have a bed there, somewhere. Contrary to popular belief you don't sleep hanging from the ceiling like a bat, that much I gathered. We could do something there to get rid of the excessive - weight." 

He was grabbed harder. Snape didn't mind the friction, it seemed. "Impudent brat", the whiskey voice murmured. "Do you mean to imply that you have had more insight into my personal life than you ever cared for? And could blackmail me with it? We are in my office, Mr. Potter, and I as a teacher of Hogwarts don't have a bed in here." 

"Oops, sorry", Harry said happily. As always he felt ridiculously elated, like on a high while flying or while drinking the third butterbeer with just a shot of firewhiskey, when Snape had given in. "My fault. Of course I didn't want to imply any critique of your bearing as a teacher." Ouch – that could have gone wrong. Harry looked at Snape's face through his eyelashes. Would that serve as a pretence for Snape to fall back on his teacher behaviour?


	4. The Dark Prince

The dark eyes flared. "Your cheek is admirable, Potter, if nothing else. I think I am in the mood to reward it". Harry felt that his eyes twinkled like on his first real Christmas, the first with presents, here in Hogwarts. "Really?", he drawled and stretched in a way he knew got to Snape. Well, and it brought himself closer to him all along. A hard hand grabbed his hair and brought his face as close to that of Snape as it could get without noses ramming into each other. 

"Yes really, Mr. Potter, but if you can't take my being so out of character, think of it as a reward for the first time I heard you admit that something was your fault." The hand went down along Harry's cheek, his neck and shoulders and rested there. "Even if it was in jest." The other hand travelled his back, desperately near his spine. Harry shivered and couldn't avert his eyes from the black ones of Snape, even if he felt a little like drowning. The hand travelled further down, went to his buttocks and grabbed them. Hard. Harry had to suppress a moan. "And rest assured, Mr. Potter", Snape's lips nibbled his ear, his cheek, his chin, his throat, "that my bearing as a teacher doesn't impede my being able to – take – you. In any possible way." 

Harry shivered and pressed down harder. Into the hand. And into something that nudged his rear end insistently. "Would not be completely out of character, too," he mumbled rather incoherently. 

"No it wouldn't, would it", Snape murmured and with a flourish that would have been becoming Gilderoy Lockart removed his robe and threw it on the floor. The next moment Harry found himself lying on it, and deft and rather urgent hands opened his robe and shirt, while lips and teeth and a tongue greeted every millimetre of flesh that was laid bare. He shivered and it was not from the cold. Nerves, rather. 

"Oh, you child," muttered Snape, but it didn't sound as embittered as it could have. He waved his wand and a blazing fire lit in the fireplace, warming everything around, even heating up the sallow skin of the Potions master and giving it a healthy glow. 

Harry sighed, relieved, and started to get completely undressed. But his hands were slapped away. "Mine", Snape growled, and Harry wasn't the one to contradict him. Not just now. When Snape was acting, after all that racket before, he would rather not throw him into another fit of anything. Plus, he loved his hands. On himself. Everywhere. And not just hands. But hands usually lead to – more. 

He whimpered. Snape's hands were soft and callous at the same time, and rather cruel just now. Good thing that he didn't much like his clothes. They didn't take Snape's treatment well. Well, his body was another thing completely. It squirmed and writhed in a rather undignified way, and not away from the hands that could be so deceivingly soft in one moment and hard in the next. And quick. He was undressed completely in a matter of a minute or so. 

Snape threw Harry's clothes away somewhere, in an unconcerned way no one who had seen him handle his potions would have believed him capable of. Then his dark eyes moved about the body he had just undressed. The lips muttered something. It sounded like "I love this", but Harry didn't trust his ears enough to believe that. On the other hand – why not? Snape risked a lot indeed by doing this. He must have reasons for it, Harry thought smugly.

Said smugness was wiped away from his face completely when Snape fell onto his body again, fingers now roaming over skin and flesh, wildly, mercilessly, decided to make him scream. Harry didn't want to scream, but he did. He always did. Once the man had him in his mouth, that hot wet talented mouth, he was a goner. And rather fast at that.

This time was like every time. Harry bucked helplessly into Snape's mouth within minutes, and the smug smile was on Snape, who wiped his mouth in a way Harry knew he should feel bad about but wasn't. It looked – arousing. The dark eyes over the hand, the mouth Harry knew was behind it, and what he had just done – Harry shivered all over. The eyes threw dark fire. "Now, young man", the voice was dark and so low that Harry had to strain his ears to hear it. "Satisfied?"

Harry grinned a rather beatific smile. "Well", he drawled lazily, "for now. But I don't consider that as keeping promises". The eyes, nose and mouth were directly in front of him. "You don't?" Menace pure, Harry shivered again but held the gaze of these black unfathomable depths. "Pity", delivered in a tone reminiscent of first year. Harry grinned again, delighted. The delight grew, the grin was gone, when strong hands grabbed him none too carefully and turned him around to face the floor of the dungeon. Not quite the place he would have chosen, but then again, he had, hadn't he? 

Harry bit into Snape's robe when he felt the long forefinger of the man at his entrance. He wouldn't give his teacher the satisfaction to hear him scream. Not again. Not again so soon after. And he might be a pervert, as Ron told him often, but he rather liked feeling the texture of that dark forbidding piece of cloth between his teeth, the one that had hid the man from him for years. The one he used so well to torment him one way or other. Swirling it, swishing along, making his walk appear as flying, inducing all kinds of hormone-crazed ideas in his mind, which made his Potions lessons an even worse pastime than earlier, when he had thought he hated the man. But ever since the bike accident, as Harry called it by himself, the robes, billowing around the man, had held his curiosity high. They smelled of smoke and unspeakable things, but Harry bit into it happily. 

Where ever Snape had got the oil from, Harry was sure glad he had. He wriggled happily and a bit excited, yet again. It was not as if he did this only to please Snape, after the man had pleasured him that nicely, he could feel his own interest grow again, against the robe on the cold floor of the dungeon. 

He moaned when an oiled finger penetrated him. Snape was so good at that. So damned patient, Harry would have called him a bloody tease, if he had had the breath to do so. He was occupied with gnarling his teeth. He didn't want to scream, not yet, not yet again, not when only a finger, two fingers, three fingers opened him expertly. He could do that later. Oh okay. 

"All that potion stirring surely helped with your stamina, Sev", he gritted out through clamped teeth. "Don't you think this is enough bloody preparation even for a virgin? Which I am not, by any means." The fingers stopped. Oh okay. He had thought he could bring Snape to do something, anything rash with his words. He had been wrong, it seemed. Severus Snape was not an easy man to handle, and any time Harry thought he could look through him like glass, he was taught otherwise very soon indeed. He wriggled invitingly. Surely, Snape hadn't had the time to cast a spell on himself that helped him to resist temptation? 

Harry felt sweat breaking out on his whole body. He couldn't stand the anticipation. Snape behind his back, Snape not saying anything, not doing anything, that reminded him uncomfortably of his years as a student of this man. Well, technically, he still was a student of this man, but who cared? It was not right that the man could do that to him. Make him shiver and squirm and moan nearly, so very nearly, just with his unmoving silent presence behind him. Something like that should be ruled out by the Ministry. Oh, well, perhaps it was. Harry couldn't imagine going to the new Minister, Arthur Weasley, and tell him that he and Snape – oh no. Well, Arthur Weasley didn't even know about his own sons, so he had no reason to presume he'd understand Harry any more than he did the twins, for example. Well, he was a nice enough man, and not too prone to follow stupid rules, but to think of him and sex in the same sentence was something that did sorry things to his bodily state. Then again – Arthur and Molly must have had sex – at least six times. Ouch!


	5. Bliss

Snape had at last done something. He had used his free hand to slap Harry on the arse, rather strongly. As that was not part of their usual routine –if you could call it routine, with all the hindrances Snape put up every time – Harry tried to turn around and protest, but the hand held him in place, the fingers caressing the spot which they had just turned a flaming red, Harry was sure of it. 

"What was that for?", he asked and couldn't prevent his voice from sounding hurt. He was. He had never been beaten. The Dursleys had treated him bad, Voldemort had done unmentionable things, but beaten he had never been. And then again – he could feel his interest renew itself, against his mental uproar. That was – interesting. 

The silky voice came – at last. "I was under the impression that you wanted me to do something, Potter". It made Harry shiver and squirm, the way the voice found its way through the whole of his body, adding to the feeling of the fingers that were still in him, and the hand that was stroking his arse and his prick hardening against the robed stone floor. It was – too much. He ground out a noise of frustration.

"And I decided that you could use a little – lecture in patience after you so nicely reminded me of my profession. I am your teacher after all, Mr. Potter, thank you very much for mentioning it." "Don't mention it", Harry wriggled and wanted to die. He was so dead, he was such an idiot, Snape was right to punish him. How could he do that? He knew that Snape had some misgivings about their relationship beyond the classroom. Very bloody brilliant to remind him of it, when all he wanted from him, really, was screw him through the floor. Now!

Another slap to his arse. Harry moaned again. It hurt nicely. It reminded him of something. Oh yeah, he knew. It reminded him of what he was so eager for Snape to do. Red heat, a little pain, and a growing warmth that needed to be fulfilled, filled, handled, anything. It seemed, Snape had inadvertently found another dark spot on the hero of the light. 

Well, inadvertently? Perhaps Snape had been knowing all along? If he thought he knew the man, Harry was sure that Snape knew him even better. He knew that Harry liked to be humiliated by his voice. Liked it? So that. He loved it, and especially his prick. And said bodily part did react as much to the slapping. The man was a insufferable know it all and Harry hated him with all his heart. Would luckily hate him again, if only he did what he was dying to be done to.

"Oh I won't", said the Potions master in that dreamy voice. "It seems I have found a way to make you obey, at last". Another slap, and Harry cried out loud and tried to wriggle into the punishing hand and at the same time ground into the floor. It was impossible, it was torture, it was heavenly hell. "Pity I can't use that in the classroom. Would have made my life so much easier from the beginning. But I fear Albus would object". Another slap. Harry was squirming hopelessly. The man was a prick, no wait, he was a sadist, well, whatever, how could he be so calm and cool? Harry had never been one to be too certain of his looks, or his appeal, but in the past Snape had rather fallen for him. Every time. How could he stay away from him so long, with even his fingers playing him? All of them?

"Please", he moaned. He had no breath for more, no breath, no pride, no anything. Only an arse that was waiting to be filled, beaten, anything, and a cock that was dribbling already, weeping in despair. 

Another hard slap, followed by the fingers soothing the spot. Harry felt tears coming to his eyes, from frustration, he thought, but a little from the shock and the feeling of humiliation. Yes, he could understand Snape –the man had wanted to do him in from their first class. Now he had found a way. Finally, in seventh year. 

And Harry liked it, oh he liked it, he loved it, really, but please ... Please, now. He sobbed with a mixture of relief and anxiety, when the fingers retreated from his inside. His feelings roared when the fingers were replaced by something else. "Good, Mr. Potter", the infuriating and much too calm voice said, while the man pushed into his waiting weeping hole. "I am satisfied with your obedience for once."

Harry still felt humiliated, but what was that against the other feelings that flooded him? Feelings that came and went like the tides, rolling and rolling and rolling up into just one emotion, one very strong, overwhelming, while he was thrashed into the ground with meticulous care. He could just see Snape, in his mind's eye, mouth set in determination, sweat dripping from his brow, eyes coal-black, aimed at his backside, hands holding him, tight, so tight, and cock driving into and out of him, stroking his prostate with every push. 

Harry yelled, when one hand slapped his arse again, and he was nearly there, oh so very close, and then another hand grabbed him and squeezed and the next push did it. He screamed himself hoarse and was nearly blinded by the uproar of feelings. "Good boy". Snape had held completely still during Harry's orgasm, but now he started in earnest, without restraint, and Harry shivered in sympathy, if not in renewed arousal, when the other man slammed into him and grunted like someone possessed. 

It didn't take long. 

Harry smiled beatifically and nuzzled the other man's neck, damp hair clinging to it, with his nose. Snape was breathing loudly. Harry fondled the spent organ of his teacher and slapped his thigh. Hard.

Snape nearly jumped, it was very satisfying. "What on earth was that for?", he asked, voice still not as it used to be. Harry smiled again, like a beautiful and innocent child. "For teaching me, Professor. Thank you very much indeed."

Snape stared at him for a long while, then sighed. "You're welcome Mr. Potter, you know you are." "Yes", said Harry with delight, "but it is so much more gratifying to feel it." Snape stared again and sighed again, then put out his arm. "Come here, you insufferable brat. I know you like to cuddle, and don't take pains to deny it. And I am just now in the mood to reward you for your learning skills."

"Okidoki", said Harry and set himself to rest in the arms of Severus Snape, teacher and lover extraordinaire.


	6. Familiar Aftermath

When Harry returned to his tower in the middle of the night – well it was technically still night, as there was at least an hour left before breakfast would be served -, he found a number of red heads in the common room, some on the couch, one on the armchair in front of the fire place. He sighed. Trust Ron and his brothers to look after him. Just what he needed, to be looked after. He felt the grin on his face. He had been looked after, rather thoroughly, thank you very much. He couldn't help feeling a bit touched, also. The Weasleys were as close to family as he had ever gotten. Well, apart from Snape, but he could only think that in the dead of the night, and forget it soon afterward. It would be premature to dream of anything beyond mere – satisfying, thrilling, emotional – sex.

His sigh must have woken the lot, sleepy eyes looked at him, four mischievous as soon as they opened, two with barely contained disgust. Well, Ron was such a snob. And a hypocrite. He couldn't remember Ron being that adverse to Snape in the hay. On the contrary, he vividly recalled Ron's envious face when he had come around to Harry and Snape in the stack and his freckled body squirming and wriggling and in no way adverse to the things Snape had been doing to him. It was high time that he and Hermione got going, Harry decided, or Ron would explode out of sexual frustration and envy.

Nobody asked how it had been. He knew he looked the answer – rosy red, with a silly grin, his hair even worse than normal. They couldn't see his arse, and wouldn't of course, which was a good thing. He saw Ron's mouth curl, his drowsy, well-fucked grin must have been too much for his best friend.

"No questions, Harry", Ron said urgently and looked around as if he feared to be overheard by someone. "We're here to warn you. Hermione is up to something. She just couldn't believe that you went to Snape for homework when she was there. She will get you for that, and it won't be fun. You know how she gets." Ron shrugged his shoulders and looked as uncomfortable as he had done in the forbidden forest with all the spiders. Or even more so.

Harry could sympathise but he would have none of it. Not any more. They were 17, for heaven's sake, and the end of term, the end of school was so close, he wouldn't have Hermione ruin it all just because Ron couldn't get her acquainted with the ways of the world. 

He turned to his friend with a look in his eyes that Voldemort would have recognized had he lived to tell. "Ron, you are my best friend, but you are an idiot. And a hypocrite". Ron turned beetle-red, but the twins grinned and nodded fervently. "I know you don't like my going to Snape, but once you liked him doing you well-enough, you asked or even screamed for him to do it, I remember." The twins nearly jumped up and down on the couch. It was nice to have this talk after all, with such avid observers.

"I wanted to tell Hermione, I don't want to have any secrets from her, she's my best friend, after you, but as we all know, she has not the slightest inkling of what is really going on between people" The twins nodded, in unison, Ron looked desperate. 

"And whose fault is that?" Harry noticed that his voice grew louder, but he couldn't help it. He had watched Ron falling in love with their best friend from second year onwards, and what had he done about it? Nothing, nothing at all. "I don't know why you can't tell her how you feel, perhaps some kind of misconception about the importance of brains, but if you don't tell her, and soon, and you two get going, I'll have to do her myself. I don't know if I could, I love her dearly like a sister, but there must be spells for that, don't you think". The twins nodded fervently. Surely, they must know. 

Ron looked outraged, but Harry stopped him from saying anything with just a very tiny spell. He had been thinking about this for years, and now was the time. "Your envy of me, and that's what it is, and not righteous indignation as you would like to have it, is born out of sheer frustration." Furious nodding from the twins, more red colour from their brother. "And Hermione is so stuck up and touchy you can't even talk to her. And that is all your fault." He glowered at Ron who looked completely helpless, the twins slapped their knees in utter malicious glee.

"Talk to her and do her, or I'll do her. I am serious." Of course, he never would, but Ron seemed impressed. And if that was what it took to get him going, and getting his heart's desire and Hermione's too, and he himself freed of all that lecturing about Snape or nosing into his private life, how much better for them all. He was Gryffindor after all, even when he could just see some special Slytherin sniggering with glee about his devious traits. 

"Or we do her", declared one of the twins, solemnly, "together, and believe me, that won't be funny." "No", added the other twin, "indeed it would be pure torture". Harry grinned – torture on whom? The twins were about as straight as Sigfried and Roy, but Ron didn't know that either. 

Ron looked from his brothers to his friend and back again. Then he gulped audibly and went for the girl's dormitory like a man doomed. But determined to conquer the princess and fight every obstacle on the way. "Hermione", he yelled, "I have to talk to you. Hear me out."

Harry grinned at the twins, who had jumped up from the couch and slapped his back. They gave each other a high five and Harry left for his dorm. The things he had to do as a saviour of the wizard world were really a pain in the arse. 

Harry smiled indulgently, took off his clothes, fondled his burning bum, and turned to his bed to have a last dream of Snape, before the new day dawned.

_The end_

******************

Oh well, the twins are still in school because – well they did too much damage to pass their NEWTS, you know? They had to retake classes – sod congruency, anyhow:-)

And yes, I know the last bit is highly sexist and morally degrading and all that, but it came to me and I love it:-) 

And no, I won't write Ron/Hermione, I simply can't:-(


End file.
